Title: Apology for the Truth Summary: Scully deals with the aftermath of Mulder's case. Post ep for I Want To Believe Rating: mild, probably too mild for some but just right for others Category: MSR, SA Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended. I'm still not making money off this hobby as my husband points out on every possible occasion. Author's Notes: My attempt to grab Scully out of the clutches of the evil witch who stole her during the movie and put her back where she belongs. Thanks to Lisa for overnight express beta services. Apology for the Truth by Vickie Moseley "Good work, Dr. Scully." I looked over at the other surgeon assisting me on the second of three operations on Christian Fearon and smiled. "Thanks. And thanks for risking the 'wrath of God' and all his saints to help me," I added before dropping my eyes and turning back to stripping off my gloves. "Oh, I think God was on our side all along," replied my companion. Blond like a surfer, hair with just a touch of a curl, blue eyes -- Dr. Kevin Mulligan was definitely most women's idea of perfection. And his interest in me was no secret to anyone at the hospital. "So, want to grab a bite of lunch in the cafeteria after you talk to the family? I hear it's meatloaf day," he offered casually. I'd frequently taken him up on such offers, for appearances sake if nothing else. The rumor mill at the fine medical institution where we were employed was top notch and the last thing I needed was anyone speculating on why a still fairly young successful female doctor showed no interest in the male of the species. Not if I wanted to continue to practice at Our Lady of Sorrows and keep Mulder's hiding place a secret. Today, however, was a new day. "Sorry Kevin. I have to get home," I said with a smile to ease the rejection. Mulligan looked at me a moment and then smiled back. "What's his name? The guy you were talking to day before yesterday? The tall guy in the parka with the scowl." He was teasing, but he was also fishing and I knew it. I swallowed back my immediate fear, reminding myself that Mulder wasn't a wanted man anymore. But then, I'd never liked broadcasting our relationship, even when it had been obvious to the world. A tiny voice echoed Father Joe's accusation to me 'not like your husband' and my immediate denial 'he's not my husband'. True enough, we didn't have a piece of paper declaring a legal commitment, but did that make our personal commitment any less valid? Was it distaste for the pedophile I was addressing or my anger at Mulder that made me say those words? "Dana, look, I'm sorry," Kevin said in an embarrassed rush. "That was prying and I shouldn't -- " "No, Kevin, it's fine. He's . . . he's my partner," I said simply. "Oh!" The intonation made it very clear what type of partner Dr. Mulligan was assuming. If there was a time to play defense, I had the opportunity but I chose not to take it. "Yes. And he was injured the other night in a car accident. So I really need to get home and check on him. But first I need to speak to the Fearons. I know they're anxious to hear how it went today." "Sure. Hey, uh, I'll take a rain check on lunch. Hope your, um, partner is feeling better." "Thanks. See you later," I said and hurriedly finished cleaning up and putting on my lab coat. The Fearons sat huddled in the surgical waiting room. I took note of the rosary twisted in Margaret's fingers. I cleared my throat and they both rose in unison. "Dr. Scully," Brian said, licking his lip. I smiled, hoping to convey my optimism. My smile turned genuine when I saw them both relax a little as spoke. "The surgery went well. He came through like a trooper. I know there was some pain associated with the last round and I took care to alleviate some of the cause of that this time. I think it's going well." "Thank God," Margaret whispered, tears forming on my lashes. "Thank you, Dr. Scully. You were right. You were right," she said, biting her lip. "When can we see him?" Brian asked in a breath, releasing all physical signs of the tension I'd seen when I first walked in. "Give them about an hour to get him back in his room. You can sit with him till he wakes up. The nurse has my orders for pain medication, but I think it will be better this time. You can call me if there are any questions." "You won't be here?" Margaret asked fearfully. My gut twisted a bit but I took a breath and answered. "No, I'll just be at home. But I can be back here at a moment's notice," I assured the young mother. "Maggie, she can't be here all the time. She has a life," Brian scolded. I had to stifle a laugh at that. Lately I'd had enough excitement for two lives. "Yes, you're right. I'm sorry. That was thoughtless of me. Thank you, Dr. Scully. We'll call if there's any need." Hesitantly she leaned forward and engulfed me in a brief hug. I was still a little uncomfortable with such displays, but I was getting better. I readily accepted hugs from my small patients, but I had come to realize that sometimes their parents needed reassurance as well. Margaret dropped her arms and I stepped back, giving them both one more smile and left the lounge. I carefully skirted the lobby entrance to avoid going past the administrator's office and any chance of confrontation with Father Ybarra. Instead I exited by way of the emergency room double doors. An ambulance had just arrived. The patient on the gurney had on an oxygen mask so that all that was visible was a full head of chestnut brown hair. My head swam for a moment and I had to draw in a deep breath. It wasn't Mulder, I told myself firmly. Mulder was safe at home and I had the car so he couldn't go anywhere. But it had been him, just 30 hours earlier. The image of him lying on that bloody tree stump, the axe poised ready to strike, hit me in the gut. If Skinner had been a little slower in answering my call for help, if I'd gone with Walter into the compound rather than searching the grounds, if in my anger at Mulder I'd just ignored the fact that I couldn't reach him on his cell phone and kept tidying up my office -- It was too much. The darkness closed in on me till I could barely find my car in the employees' lot. Shaking, I had to fight to get the keyless entry to allow me into the car. Finally, I sat at the steering wheel, crying. I wasn't even sure why I was crying. In a more rational moment I would have realized that it was release of tension and stress. The surgery had been tricky, but ultimately successful and from the most recent test results, my extreme course of treatment was winning the battle against a reportedly incurable disease. That alone would be enough to bring the most rigid doctor to tears. But I hadn't broken immediately after leaving the Fearons. It had been the sight of the man on the gurney that caused the shakes, that brought on the waterworks. It was my heart that had lost its tenacious hold on composure, not my mind. I had to get home to Mulder. It was no longer a casual pronouncement, it was now a mission. A desire, a need, a physical ache in my belly that demanded I move at all haste toward one goal. I loved the long drive to our little house in the middle of nowhere. Usually the forty minutes afforded me just the right amount of downtime to unwind from my work. I loved being a doctor but I didn't love fighting the administration or dealing with recalcitrant patients -- regardless of how much practice Mulder had given me over the years. So the rolling hills and low mountains of the Blue Ridge were just the balm I often needed to go home and face a housebound Mulder. The thought of him brought a smile to my face. He would be furious if he knew how often I thought of him as a puppy, stuck in his kennel all day until I returned at night to release him to run. That was probably not too kind, but sometimes the energy he exhibited when I opened the door made the comparison too easy to resist. The flip side to that happy image was the reality of keeping an active grown man such as my partner under 'lock and key'. The house was on 50 acres of non-tillable land, set back over two acres from the barely paved road so we were afforded complete privacy. It was on a well and a septic, so urban expansion out to our neck of the woods would be years in the making. There were deer runs through the woods behind the house and Mulder had charted and improved several of them, making a running trail that rivaled those at the FBI Academy at Quantico. In spring, the woods came alive with plants and trees of untold beauty. In the fall, the view from our back porch was breathtaking. When the snow fell, the firewood from the little forest was enough to warm us all winter long. If the truth be told, however, it was still a very pretty gilded cage for my rare bird and I mourned his lack of freedom. But as every doctor could have told me, sometimes the cure was worse than the disease. Yes, I was getting worried about Mulder and his isolation. Ignoring his dry quips about precognition, he was becoming more withdrawn with each passing year. Where he used to 'come out of his cave' when I arrived home, now he barely acknowledged my presence with a 'What's up Doc' and continued on with his mysterious clippings which were beginning to remind me of a newspaper obsessed version of Ted Kaczynski. The beard was a perfect example. Not once in 15 years had he ever hinted at growing a beard. Even when his face was bruised and battered, he'd withstood the obvious discomfort to shave every day. I had first chalked it up to his years in the FBI, where you needed special permission to grow facial hair if you were in the field. But after we'd be on the run and looking for disguises when I'd hinted that I liked his stubble, he would ruthlessly shave it off after no more than 36 hours. Yet almost magically, the beard was there when I returned home from my last Christmas visit to my mother, now living near Bill and Tara in southern California. So when Agent Drummy had materialized in the hospital hallway with an offer to make Mulder a free man again, it seemed like the answer to my most recent prayers. I should have known better. The one thing I could say about the FBI after all my years inside and out of their halls was that they were not a beneficent entity. Of course they needed Mulder. And as the Mulder of old, once on a trail, he would never give up. Don't give up. Even as I said the words, I knew in my heart that Father Joe had not been talking about Mulder or even to him. Mulder never gave up. He hadn't given up on finding his sister, and contrary to my cruel taunts of mere nights before, it was something I'd always admired about him. He hadn't given up on me when I'd been returned more dead than alive, Melissa had taken great pains to explain that to me. He hadn't given up on our miracle and my heart had memories of our sweet baby boy to prove it. He hadn't even given up on coming back to me when I buried him under six feet of cold ground. No, it wasn't Mulder who gave up. I knew very well who was the one to throw in the towel at the first sign of trouble and it wasn't Mulder. My little temper tantrum and ultimatum in the hospital locker room was more than ample proof. A wince followed that thought. I knew Mulder well enough that it wasn't a surprise that he would want to pursue every lead, yet I made him think I expected him to stay home like a good little fugitive from justice and 'write it in a book'. Oh, yes, that was exactly what I'd told him. And I capped it off by threatening him with our relationship by telling him I wouldn't be home. I knew Mulder well enough to understand that to him, home was not a building. Home was wherever we were -- together. I was the one threatening our home, not him or the darkness. We still hadn't spoken of that conversation, or his follow up a day later, responding to my weak declaration that what I loved about him was precisely why we couldn't be together. I knew at the time he was just parrying my earlier thrust, but it had hurt just the same. He'd drawn blood, but only because I'd wounded him as deeply the day before. It was a game we had perfected long ago but never to the level of expertise we'd shown in the past few days. For my part, it had scared me more than the 'darkness' I claimed to fear. Years ago I found myself in a position where life without Mulder was not a fear but a reality. I don't remember much after seeing his broken, nude body lying in that field. I know at some point I was in a car, riding. I remember arguing with Skinner about the necessity of performing an autopsy. Somehow I found myself in a funeral home forcefully imposing my case that I did not want the body embalmed. The kindly director found a religious exemption in the law that allowed us to bury him just as we'd found him, with only a modicum of powder on his nose. Mom picked out his burial suit and tie -- by that time I was on a very mild sedative and sleeping the 24 hours before the graveside service. My rational thought processes revived about two days after the funeral. I was in my mother's guest bedroom. I woke up and realized that my life was now stretching out before for me, but it wasn't mine anymore. I stopped living the minute the clump of dirt landed against the coffin lid. My breath, my heart beat, it was all for the tiny part of Mulder growing in my womb. That gave me the energy to get out of that bed, put on clothes and face the world without my partner. Still, every night, I prayed. Sometimes I prayed that I would wake up and find that the days spent without Mulder were only a bad dream, a nightmare. Those were the good days. The bad days I prayed I wouldn't wake up, but I knew I had to keep going, keep up appearances, make it just till this baby was born. Then who cared what happened to me because I sure didn't. And always, every night and every morning, I prayed there would be some way that we could be together again. I prayed a lot . . . and my prayers were answered. My mother used to tell me to be careful what I prayed for. I never really knew what she meant until I found myself without my son, on the run for my life, no job, a ratty old car and little money, but we were together. For all my bluster the other day, Mulder knew the truth. I could no more stay away from him than I could fly. But it wasn't the reality that hurt, it was the threat, the idea that I would even speak of leaving him. If only I could take back those words. Somehow I needed to make things right again before we could move on with those new lives we'd been granted -- our old lives reborn. I didn't have much time to figure out what I was going to say because I was already at our gate. In minutes, I would have to face Mulder. I left the car and hurried up the front steps. The key wanted to stick in the lock, but I jiggled it, breaking a nail in the process. Finally it opened into a totally silent house. Mulder's office door was closed so that was the first place I looked. It was empty. I ran through the house frantically until I thought to look at the back door. The mat where Mulder's mud-caked running shoes always sat was empty. He was running. He was running! I had specifically told him not to go running. He had a mild concussion, two hairline rib fractures and enough bruises to keep any sane 48-year old man in bed and whining for a week. My anger flared and then I caught myself. There I was again, expecting Mulder to act like someone other than himself. I forced myself to take a deep breath and climb the stairs to our bedroom. Knowing Mulder, he would run himself in the ground, come limping in and I'd have to baby him for the night. I had a choice at that moment. I could continue my current attitude, bitch at him for being the same man I'd lived with for the last 15 years. Or I could make good on the promise I'd made myself in the car and try to make things right between us. No contest -- I chose door number two. I changed out of my work clothes into jeans and a soft sweatshirt -- what Mulder had once called my 'at home ensemble'. I went down to the kitchen to wait. Mulder had pulled out some chicken breasts for dinner, they were thawing on the counter. I smiled at his thoughtfulness, but I had other plans. The chicken was still frozen so I put it back in the freezer and rooted around until I found my prize -- two perfect T-bones that Mulder had squirreled away from our last Omaha steaks order. I almost laughed. Mulder had a 'make up' dinner of chicken for me but I knew I needed to make steaks for him. Thank heavens neither of us was into seafood because we were just too far inland to accommodate that. I was preparing a couple of russets for baking when he came limping in. At the sight of me by the sink he gave me a sheepish grin. "You were running," I said, keeping my tone as neutral as possible. "The walls were closing in, Scully. I took it easy, I only did two rounds." Two rounds, with the way he'd laid out the course was a mile and a half. Not enough to do permanent damage. "How are the ribs?" I asked, leaving the potatoes to go to him and help him take off his now soaked sweatshirt. I was gratified to see he'd wrapped an Ace bandage around his chest but he still winced when he raised his arms over his head. "Sore," he admitted when he lowered his arms. "I'll go grab a shower before I start dinner." "Rinse off, I'm getting dinner," I told him. He gave me a look, I knew he was still a little tender on the inside, as well. Our kiss in the driveway had gone a long way to reassuring him that I wasn't angry at him, but he still felt he was on shaky ground and the running hadn't helped his cause. I smiled and smacked him on the rump and the fear receded from his eyes a little more but he was still wary. "Scat," I ordered and he quickly complied. He came down as I was turning the steaks in the broiler. "Hey, I was saving those," he accused. "You can order more of them," I answered and proceeded to poke holes in the potatoes with a fork before placing them in the microwave. "See if we have any sour cream," I asked. He rummaged in the refrigerator while I watch him surreptitiously from the counter. Mulder's backside was one of his finest features and I would often find myself admiring it, when he didn't push me to the lead. He rose up, triumphant. "Sour cream -- and it's still good!" "Great. Grab the bag of salad and let's eat," I said, retrieving the steaks and placing them on the platter with the potatoes. Dinner was quiet. I kept thinking about all that had happened and my thoughts on the drive home and Mulder no doubt was waiting for me to 'lower the boom'. His eyes kept darting to me all through the meal to the point where he almost put steak sauce on his lettuce. I wanted to put him out of his misery, but I still didn't know exactly what I wanted to say, so instead, I chewed. "Dessert?" he asked as he finished the last bite of steak. "Are there strawberries left?" I countered. Somewhere in his internet travels Mulder had found the means to stock our kitchen entirely by USPS and FedEx delivery. I still brought home the basics of milk, bread and sour cream but everything else he ordered and had brought to our door, or gate as it were. "I was kind of saving those, too," he said shyly. "Let's take them up to the bedroom," I suggested and had to smile at the boyish grin he graced up on me. "That's what I was hoping to save them for," he replied, full of glee. We made short work of the kitchen and, with strawberries in hand, went up to our bedroom. At the top of the stairs, I handed him the strawberries. "Give me three minutes," I told him. "And when you come in, you better be naked." With that I hurried into our bathroom and closed the door. This house didn't have much to offer when we first moved in, but the one thing it did have was a big old claw foot bathtub that had been converted to take a shower. Sometimes it was a pain climbing in and out of the thing on a daily basis, but then there were other times when I would gladly leave all my clothes and other belongings behind and just take the bathtub, if we were ever to have to leave in a hurry. I dare to say it would be a toss up between the tub and Mulder if I needed to escape the house because of a fire, with Mulder just barely nudging to the lead. I started the tap, letting the water pour in full hot before adjusting it to 'just below boiling'. Under the sink was our store of candles and I pulled them all out, positioning them around the room. It was still light out, but cloudy, so the candles gave off more fragrance than illumination. Even so, they would be useful eventually. After lighting the dozen flames, I made quick work of my clothes and was easing into the tub when Mulder opened the door. "I was hoping you were just in here touching up your roots," he mocked as he placed the strawberries on the window ledge within easy reach of his long arms, and stepped into the tub behind me. It was a few fretful minutes as the water sloshed dangerously close to the edge. We'd had one such mishap in the six year of residence and the kitchen ceiling still sports the evidence -- I wanted to avoid another great flood. But soon Mulder's arms were around me, pulling me back against him and I relaxed. We nibbled on the strawberries and I was mindful of how I leaned, but Mulder finally assured me that I wasn't hurting his ribs. Before long, we were both lulled into a peaceful and contented silence. It was how we'd been 'making up' for the last six years. Oh, there had been fights -- not surprisingly over the really silly things that two people in close proximity fight over. He didn't like the way I folded towels when I was home helping with laundry, I would come in from a long shift and immediately smell the garbage that he'd neglected to take out the night before. And there had been plenty of make up sex to go with those arguments. But when we really went at each other, when we really fought that close to the death, we'd resolve our differences in a long soak. Mulder tossed a strawberry stem over toward the container, missing it completely so that the stem fell to the floor. He leaned back and put his arms around me, hugging me gently just under my breasts. I took my cue and leaned back against his chest so that he could rest his chin on the top of my head. More often than not, I would take the coward's way out and simply tell him with touch that I was sorry. For some reason, all those times made me feel guilty later. I know Mulder understands my difficulty with emotions. I'm both taps, either hot or cold, but seldom am I good at expressing what I'm feeling and too often that has caused him pain. I knew that I'd hurt him deeply during this case and what made my offense even more egregious was that I'd all but bullied him into taking it on in the first place. I couldn't just 'sigh' my way out of it. For once, I needed to tell him exactly how sorry I was. I cleared my throat of the tears threatening to choke me. "Mulder," I said, his name echoing around the quiet bathroom. "I'm here." His voice rumbled in his chest and I could feel the words against the back of my head. I wanted to look into his eyes, but I was afraid what I would see. He would be worried because I never want to 'talk it out' -- our serious conversations usually ended with one or the other of us angrily walking out. "What I said the other day in the locker room -- " I started. "Scully," he cut me off, my name rushed and forceful. "No, Mulder, let me finish," I pleaded. "I just wanted to tell you -- I'm sorry." He sat there behind me and I could feel him thinking. I knew he was confused, but I was afraid to go any farther with my apology. My mother once explained to me that apologies should never contain the word 'but' and I was trying desperately to avoid doing that. "I was unfair." That should have cleared it up, at least somewhat but I felt him shift a little, drop his arms from around me. "Unfair about what?" I swallowed. A tub full of water and I could have drained it dry, my throat was that arid. "I said things that I . . . I regret." He was quiet a moment and I thought that would be the end of the matter, but it felt unfinished. "Scully, where do you see us in five years?" he asked, his words caressing my ear. I turned, awkwardly because the tub wasn't that big, but eventually I was facing him. "Right here," I answered. At his dubious and clearly amused look, I relented. "OK, maybe not right here in this tub, but here, with you." "What if I said I want to give the FBI another try, work my way back into a federal pension? I had 14 years in the system, I'd only have to work another 11 and I could retire." He was couching it in terms he knew I'd honestly considered -- my job at the hospital came with a retirement. I thought about it for a moment before I answered. "I want you to be happy, Mulder. If that would make you happy -- " He took my face in his hands. "_You_ make me happy, Scully. Only you. I meant what I said when you brought me their offer. I _am_ happy here, with you." "I hated not coming home," I said through my tears. "I don't know why I was so stubborn -- " "If you'll allow me, I think you were feeling a little threatened," he said with a tender look. "You haven't had to share me with anyone else for a long time. It's hard to share your toys, especially the sex ones." I giggled and he joined me. "You might be right," I said. "Agent Whitney . . . " I stopped. That was another thing my mother taught me: never to speak ill of the dead. "I know she was putting the moves on me, Scully, but I honestly think it was just to get me to go along on the case. As soon as we'd come to a point where I was no longer useful, she would have left me in the dust like the old man I am." "You aren't an old man," I objected. I stroked my hand down his chest. "And if you are -- you're _my_ old man and I'm keeping you." I turned around again and pulled his arms around me. "So, you really want to go back to the FBI?" "To be truthful, no. It was a bit of a rush, being the prodigal son and all. But it was obvious that Agent Drummy wasn't that impressed with the old Mulder magic and his type is more common than the Agent Whitneys of the world. Besides, Skinner told me he's only got a year to retirement. If I went back now there would be no one to watch my back." I found a sponge floating in the water and used it to rub his strong arms. "So, if you aren't going back to the FBI, and you do have the ability to go out and earn a living wage . . ." "Is that a subtle hint to start pulling my own weight in this family?" he interrupted my thought. "Well . . . " I teased and he squeezed my arms to let me know he considered it a good attempt. "OK, well, I, uh, I've been thinking." "Should I alert the media," I quipped. He ignored me but I caught the smile in his voice. "I did some peeking at the University of Virginia website." "The one just up the road in Charlottesville?" "The very same." " . . . and . . . ," I encouraged. "They have a very good Department of Psychology. I have this rather rusty Doctorate lying around in a safety deposit box on the Vineyard. I thought about dragging it out, shining it up -- seeing how much mileage I could get out of it." I closed my eyes and squinted hard to keep from crying because I didn't want to let him know how much I'd prayed he would consider doing just that. I cleared my throat and as calmly as I could I said "gee, that sounds like a good option." He kissed my head. "Thought you'd approve." "The water's getting cold," I said, kissing him on the lips. "Come to bed and make me warm." An hour later, we were laying under the covers, cuddling and I was about to doze off because Mulder was running his fingers through my hair. "Scully, I did something today and I might as well tell you about it." I tamped down the urge to cringe and simply waited for him to continue. "I booked us on a trip." I think my silence unnerved him because he kept talking. "To the Bahamas. In three weeks. What can I say, Scully, William Shatner and all those Priceline commercials made me do it." "Three weeks," I repeated. "If you can't get off work -- " "They owe me about two months, Mulder. I should be able to get someone to cover my cases in three weeks. How long is this trip?" "A week. Well, 9 days if you could the two travel days," he replied. I rolled over so that my chin was propped on his chest and I could look directly at him. "Think that's long enough?" "No. But I think that's the best we can manage," he answered and kissed me. "We can always go back in the future." "Spring break next year?" I countered. "You're pretty sure I'll get hired," he chuckled. "You're brilliant, you're a world famous former FBI agent with tons of commendations, you graduated at the top of your class at Oxford -- " "Hey, why don't you call the Dean of Faculty and just tell me when I start," he interjected. "Seriously, Mulder -- why wouldn't they hire you? You're a catch." "Nope. I'm caught already." I laid my head down on his shoulder. "A week in the Bahamas in the middle of -- hey, will we be there over Valentine's Day?" "Only if I used the right calendar," he answered cryptically. "Is that all right? I didn't spoil any date plans you had, did I?" "I'll let it slide this time." "Scully, I regret what I said, too. I couldn't . . . I was lost out there without you. And what I said earlier -- I could never go back to the FBI unless you were there." Maybe it was because I was drowsy and sated and very much in love, but all of a sudden, going back to the FBI didn't sound like the worst idea I'd ever heard. "I could see us going back -- under the right circumstances and on our terms." I kissed him and settled back down, fully intending to fall asleep in his arms. But before I drifted off, I remember hearing him mumble something about extreme possibilities. the end . . . I feel much better now. Thanks for reading.